


step by step (home to me)

by Pippin



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Resurrection, Reunions, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-16 10:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18092708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippin/pseuds/Pippin
Summary: Caleb's world shattered when Molly fell.A tiefling's world started when he rose.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> See end notes for more detailed information on the self-harm tag

_Black birds were flying, watching as you fell_

Each breath felt like a thousand knives trying to tear their way out of his throat.  Caleb was no stranger to panic attacks, but this was different.  His vision swam—he wasn’t sure if he was shaking or his vision was shaking—or maybe it was both?  Voices danced around him, swimming in and out of his hearing, maybe his name?  It sounded vaguely like Nott, but not enough to shake him out of his stupor.  He should be better—he had held himself together, more or less, until now, through watching Molly fall and putting him in the ground.  Why was it now that it felt like his mind was shattering once more—that was the only time he had felt like this.  He should be familiar with death by this point, both watching and causing it.  The Nein had done plenty of fighting, plenty of killing, plenty of nearly dying— _nearly._   And now that nearly had come to head, had come to be.

Caleb fisted a hand in his own tangled hair, the pain barely registering over his mental anguish.  And then firm hands were on him, grip almost enough to bruise, and Beau’s face was far too close to his own.  He recoiled, or tried to—her grip was much too tight to allow him to go anywhere.

“Snap out of it,” she ordered, giving Caleb a shake.  “I know you’re upset; we all are.  But you’re going to follow him, the way you’re carrying on.”

“I loved him,” Caleb bit out, voice heavy with unshed tears.

“Yeah, you’re not special.”  The words were harsh, but Caleb knew that Beau didn’t mean them as they came across.  That was just Beau’s way.  “We all loved him.”

Caleb shook his head, choking on a sob.  “Not like that.”  He unconsciously raised his hand to his shoulder, pulling aside his shirt to press on a bruise left earlier that week by Molly’s teeth in a hurried encounter in an inn room while the rest of the group had been distracted.  He pressed harder in an attempt to feel, to remember, rather than to make clear his meaning.

Even Beau could figure that out.  “Shit.”  She stepped away, clearly uncomfortable and unsure what to do.  Nott stepped into her place, framing Caleb’s face in her hands and pressing an awkward kiss to his forehead.

Caleb backed away, trying to escape without looking like he was trying to flee.  To his eternal gratitude, his friends let him go without a fight.

As soon as he was far enough away he broke into a run, disappearing into a nearby copse of trees.  He pressed his back into the wood, lighting his hands up and letting the bite of the flame overtake the bite of memory.

One of his hands unconsciously went to the wrappings on his arms, undoing the bandages and digging into his scarred skin.  Some of the scars were from experiments, but others…well.  Others were from grief as sharp as that he felt now, from when the memories became too much and he needed something to pull himself out.

In some common sense corner of his mind he knew better, but his common sense was overridden by the pain of losing Molly.  He pressed burning hands to his skin, reveling in the feel of the pain, watching the skin redden and blister. 

Caleb was well acquainted with fire, knew full well when to stop that he wouldn’t do more than superficial damage to his arm.  He wrapped his arm tightly, the rubbing of cloth on ruined flesh sending harsh zaps of pain singing through his system.

When he returned no one met his eyes.  It was a small mercy, one that he was in no place to appreciate.  He merely wrapped himself in his blanket and closed his eyes.  Sleep was slow to come and restless when it did, haunted by nightmares of glowing red eyes and violet skin, but it was sleep all the same.

* * *

A graveyard was no solace, Caleb found.  It was merely a reminder of the grave they had left Molly in.

Mr. Clay, too, wasn’t much help.  Lovely, calming, with excellent tea, but still just a reminder of Molly.  Something about him was reminiscent of the friend they had lost and it was more than Caleb could handle, so without a word to even Nott he made good his retreat.

Caduceus was the one who found him, hunched against a tree, fingers digging into the bark.

“Everyone mourns differently.  Grief works in odd ways,” he said, deep voice somehow soothing in a way Caleb both craved and abhorred.  “But your way is hurting both yourself and your friends.  You need to let him go.”

“I _can’t_.”  Caleb had thought that he had cried himself out, but he shattered again, sobbing into the arms of a stranger wrapped around him as Caduceus stroked his hair. 

“I loved him.”  It felt like the hundredth, thousandth, millionth time he had said that, but no matter how many times it passed his lips it was no substitute for the feeling of Molly’s own pressed again him with a grin.

“Everyone loves and everyone loses.”  It was just a platitude, an attempt to comfort, one that fell short of the mark.  Better, however, was the warm furred hand rested on Caleb’s cheek, wiping his tears.

* * *

The Nein was surrounded by innumerable enemies, closing in on every side.  Caleb could hear the encroaching footsteps and sickly chuckles of hunters who knew their prey was cornered and caught.  He turned rapidly, looking for his allies. 

There was Beau, staff held firmly as she leveled a glare at the people closest to her.  Jester and her duplicate were separated by a faintly glowing pink lollypop.  Arcane energy crackled around one of Fjord’s hands as he clutched his falchion in the other.  Nott’s crossbow was cocked and ready to fire. 

A glow in his peripheral caught Caleb’s attention and he turned to the source, heart settling at Molly’s smirk as he activated the scimitar in his right hand.

There was a growl from one of the beasts approaching them and the Nein launched into combat, trying desperately, futilely, to hold back the onslaught.  It was to no avail, however.

Caleb watched helplessly as Beau was forced to her knees, staff cracked in two.  As Jester’s lollypop vanished as the caster fell unconscious.  As Nott shrieked out in pain.  As Fjord’s armor cracked and blood leaked from the seams.

As a blade pierced through Molly’s chest.

He knew what he had to do.  The spell was prepared; all that was left was to fire it.

He launched his fireball just as the scene changed, the host of enemies transforming into something more familiar.  Despite not having seen it in years, Caleb immediately recognized the home of his childhood.  He screamed in heartrending fear as his fireball hit the house, flames spreading more rapidly than he thought possible from just a single bolt.

There was fire everywhere.  Caleb reached out desperately, trying to get into the house, hearing screams from all sides.  But there were hands on him, hands holding him back  When he turned to look they were swirling entities—sometimes Astrid and Eodwulf, sometimes various members of the Nein, sometimes Trent, sometimes no one he could place. 

The screams continued, changed.  “ _Caleb!_ ”

No one had called him that, not when he had done this.  Not for over a decade after he had done this for the first time.

He knew that voice, even worse.  He hadn’t heard that voice in weeks of sleepless nights, but he knew it.

This time there was no one to hold him back as he plunged into the flames, shouting Molly’s name.  The pain was inconsequential—he had to save Molly.  That was what mattered.  He could see him wreathed in flames, hair ignited like a hellish halo, beloved coat burning around him.  His skin blistered and burned, blackening as he writhed in pain.  He was burning to death in Caleb’s flames, which meant that Caleb was the only one who could save him.

He was within arm’s grasp of the tiefling, brushing fingertips against Molly’s desperate hands, when someone pulled him away.  He fought back against the hands on his shoulders, screaming his anger and defiance, his refusal to watch Molly die again, but he wasn’t strong enough.  Instead of breaking his way free he was dragged up and out, dragged awake.

Beau glared down at him, her face illuminated in dancing firelight.  “Put the fire out,” she commanded in a hard voice.

Caleb didn’t even realize he was on fire, hadn’t known he could cast spells in his sleep.  Nevertheless, he was certainly burning.  Fjord was stomping out the remains of his bandages, Jester still had a hand on Caleb’s shoulder from when she had shaken him awake, Nott was clinging to her flask and staring with wide eyes.

Caleb tore himself from Jester’s grasp, coughing out acrid mouthfuls of smoke.  He ended the spell and extinguished the flames coming from his magic.  He looked at the scorched remnants of his bedroll and turned to grab his books and coat, mercifully far enough away to be spared the same fate.

“What the fuck, man?” Beau demanded.

Caleb just turned away, doubling over his books and clutching them tight.

“No, you don’t get to run away from this.”  Beau put a shoulder on Caleb’s shoulder and pulled him back to face her and the rest of the group.  “We know you’re working through Molly’s death, but this isn’t okay.  You’re putting all of us at risk.”

“Do you need someone to talk to?” Jester piped up.  “I’m _very_ good at comforting.”

Caleb shook his head.  He didn’t think he could find the words, and even if he could he didn’t owe them any answers. 

“I’m a disgusting person,” was all he offered, trying to find a way to flee—both literally, from the questing eyes and probing questions of his friends, and metaphorically, from the demons in his mind.

“That’s not an answer and you can’t use it as a copout.”  Beau was generally an angry person, but this was about as stony as Caleb had ever seen her face.  “How you feel about yourself doesn’t matter.  This is about your fucking grieving process nearly killing us all in the night.”

Now that Caleb looked closer he could see scorch marks and burns on the other members of the group.  Jester seemed to have gotten off the lightest, her Infernal heritage saving her from taking too much damage even though she had been the one to shake Caleb awake.  Caduceus’s grey fur was stained darker with soot, Fjord had his icy armor as a shield between himself and the heat, Beau was glaring at a scorch on her pants.  And Nott, with her habit of curling up against Caleb as they slept—Caduceus was holding her hand, casting Cure Wounds to help close up a number of nasty-looking burn marks along her side.

The guilt came crashing back, amplified by the remnants of his nightmare.  All he was good for was hurting those he cared about, never doing a whit of anything better.

Caleb clenched his fists, swearing under his breath in Zemnian.  He didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but his friends were right.  He needed to move on as best he could.  That really wasn’t a particular talent of his, but he had to do his best.  He was never going to forget what he had done—whether it be from his direct actions or from a failure to do more—but he had to stop putting his other friends at risk.  That was just going to make the guilt worse.

Resolute, Caleb took a deep breath, forcing himself to release the tension he carried as he exhaled.

He went to Nott first, pressing a kiss to the head of his goblin friend.  “I’m sorry,” he murmured as he pulled away.

Nott looked up at him with big eyes.  “You didn’t do anything wrong!” she protested, but Caleb held up a hand to quiet her.

“You and I both know that’s a lie.”  He ran a hand along her freshly healed skin.  “This, of course, but also everything since…over the past week or so.”  He couldn’t say _since Molly died_.  “I’ve been pushing everyone away, but you out of all of us deserve better.  You’ve stood with me through everything and it’s not fair that you should suffer just because I don’t know how to handle my emotions.”

The rest of the Nein were easier, for as much as they had stood by his side and suffered along with him they weren’t Nott.  Fjord, Jester, and Caduceus seemed to accept his apologies with easy grace, and while Beau was, well, _Beau_ about the entire thing she still took his apology with a surprising amount of tact.

“We need to keep moving,” Fjord said.  “The gold will only last so long, and we do have jobs that need doing.”

“I need a library.” 

“ _Really_?”  Caleb could hear the eye roll in Beau’s voice, but he ignored it.

“Really.  If I can light myself on fire in my sleep…I need to research.  I need to know if that’s possible, if it was just a fluke, how to stop it.  I know I dreamed of fire, but that’s not new.”  It was hard, telling his secrets like this rather than on his own terms, but they no longer affected just him.  “I dream of fire most nights.  I see the flames near about every time I close my eyes.  And if I start setting fires every time I dream of them…”  He sighed.  “If I set fires every time I dream of them _and I cannot learn how to stop_ , you are best to just kill me before I kill one of you.”

“We would never do that!”  Nott’s voice was indignant, a sentiment echoed by Jester, but Caleb only had eyes for Fjord and Beau.  He knew that they would do what needed done, emotion be damned.

“Let me research it.  Let me see if I can stop it.  Until then, maybe don’t sleep around me.”

Grief worked in odd ways, indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

_I can see you somewhere up the road_  
There’s a weight you carry you’re trying to let go  
And you know that if I could I would take it all away from you

Everything was dark.  The darkness was heavy, constricting, and _he couldn’t breathe_.  Its weight pressed against every piece of his body and he clawed at that darkness, trying desperately to get enough air to fill his lungs.  His heart pounded in sudden, suffocating panic and he threw his arms and legs up against the crumbling material that made up his cage, trying to escape.  What little air he managed to free up was cycled rapidly as he hyperventilated, dancing lights swimming in front of him (and that brought back something, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on _what_ ).

It felt far longer than it probably was until he reached up into light, until he was free enough to drag himself out and take deep gasping breaths.  He stretched out his hands, examining them as they shook.  Delicate tattoos danced over lavender skin, nothing seeming familiar.

As he stretched out aching muscles, freeing himself from the gorgeous tapestry he was wrapped in, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground.  Bubbly letters covered most of it, with a note at the bottom in different handwriting, the writing small and spiky.  He stared at the words but could make no sense of them.  He vaguely recognized them as letters, but that didn’t mean he had any idea what they said.

He wrapped the tapestry around him and then noticed the gorgeous coat that was next to where he had emerged.  He draped it over his shoulders, luxuriating in the feel and warmth of the garment.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, mind swimming (and vision going as well, to be honest), before he heard the sound of travelers on the road.  He stumbled to his feet, balance nowhere to be found, and slowly made his way to the noise.

The group of humans looked like a family—mother, father, and a large group of children with black hair and big blue eyes.  He wasn’t sure, but they seemed to range in age from a toddler to a girl who looked to be nearly an adult.  They also seemed to be terrified of him, the father stepping between him and the mother and children.

He didn’t care, just held the note out to the man.  “Help.”  His voice was rough, creaking with disuse.

The man took the note, glanced at it briefly, then turned away.  He reached out and laid a hand on his wrist, his purple shade vibrant against the man’s sun-weathered tan.

“ _Please_.”  His voice cracked in desperation.

“Wait here.”

The man handed the note to the oldest girl on the wagon, who looked over it for a moment then climbed down from the wagon, leaning heavily on a wooden cane as she came over to him.

“I can read most of it,” she told him.  “The bit at the bottom, though—that’s not in Common and I don’t recognize the language.  Here, though, it says ‘Mollymauk Tealeaf, beloved member of the Mighty Nein.’”

He frowned,  “Mollymauk.”  It sounded right, somehow.  “I think that’s my name.”

“What’s the Mighty Nein?” she asked, grimacing as she rubbed her leg.

“I’m not sure,” Mollymauk admitted.  “But I think I need to find them.”

The girl turned to her father.  “Can we help him?”

The man looked unsure.  “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”  He leaned to whisper to his daughter, although Mollymauk still picked up on it.  “Look at him.  Traveling with someone like him—it’s dangerous.  And you know how the people at home will react.”

The girl glared.  “Pa, something’s wrong—look at him.  We have to help him.  I’m sure that he can help out at home, and you know that people already think ill of us.  They have since I was born.”  She gestured to her leg, and her father sighed, turning to Mollymauk.

“Can you farm?”

Mollymauk shrugged.  “I can learn.”

The man held out his hand.  “Neilson Gårder.  Welcome aboard.”

***

The girl who had read the note to Mollymauk—Molly, he decided—was named Rilla.  As they traveled she showed Molly how to read the note he had found in his own grave.  He spent days tracing the letters, looking at his name and the sign of the Mighty Nein.  The other handwriting still wasn’t understandable, although Rilla sounded out the words for him.  The other children loved Molly, chasing his tail and trying to hang on his horns.  Most of them were far too big for such a thing but Molly allowed it anyway, enjoying being around people—thriving, as much as he was able.  There was still a massive hole in his life—the knotted scar on his chest was healed, the hole metaphorical, although try as he might Molly couldn’t figure what was missing.  Perhaps it had to do with the mysterious Mighty Nein; that seemed the most logical option.

He also discovered odd skills he must have picked up from whatever his old life had been.  Much to the children’s delight, he could juggle just about anything they tossed him, and it turned out that he had a talent for certain spoken magics. 

Rilla was interested in helping Molly rediscover who he had once been, although neither of them was sure how exactly to go about that.  They had plenty of time on the road, however—the family was traveling across the country from visiting their oldest child from where she was working as a nanny in one of the larger cities of the Empire.

“I think she’s hiding something,” Rilla whispered to Molly as the rest of the family discussed the visit.  “She sends us way more gold than she should be making, and I caught a glimpse of some crazy scars.  But also Ma and Pa would be furious if I suggested that to them.”  Rilla shrugged.  “As long as she’s safe and happy, I guess.”

Before Molly could ask any more about what she thought her mysterious older sister was doing the baby toddled over to them, arms reaching to be picked up.  Lea was two and adored Molly, giggling endlessly as he tossed her up and down, grabbing for the swinging shinies hanging from his horns, letting him chase her.

Molly scooped Lea up, bouncing her on his lap.  She giggled, nuzzling against his neck with her chubby baby cheeks.  It made Molly himself laugh—he loved playing with Lea as much as the toddler loved playing with him.  It made something in him settle, something that loved making people happy.  Lea’s easy laughter was as good as anything he had ever heard, something he sought out when he got himself into his head and started spiraling back into the grave he had woken up in.

***

Finally, the group arrived home.  The farm was small, just a house and a barn and two small fields.

“We don’t have any free space in the house,” Neilson said apologetically.  “We’re crammed in enough as it is.  I can offer you the loft in the barn, though.  It’s dry and should be comfortable enough.”

“That works for me.”  Molly was easy on things like that.  It wasn’t like he could remember anything other sleeping on the ground under the cart anyway.

Rilla led Molly to the barn, followed by ten-year-old Kella.  “I can’t go up there,” she explained, leaning heavily on her cane.  “Kella will take you up, though.”

Kella shimmied up the ladder like a little monkey, Molly behind her.  She pointed out a little pallet in one corner, neat patchwork quilt pulled across it.

“Sometimes we sleep up here when the house gets too hot,” she explained.  “But now it’s yours.”

She slid back down the ladder.  Molly hung his coat on a protruding nail and followed her back down.

Rilla was leaning against the wall, a cat twining its way around her ankles.  Kella was sitting by her sister, another cat in her lap.

Seeing the cats made something in Molly click into place.  He definitely remembered a different cat snapping into and out of existence. 

“Frumpkin,” he murmured, then shook his head.  That wasn’t a name he could place beyond being sure it was a cat he had once known.

Rilla seemed to be the only one who heard him and raised her eyebrows.  Molly shook his head, dismissing her questions before she could even ask them.

***

Helping on the farm was hard work but Molly found it soothing, somehow.  It was repetitive, the same things every day, and he quickly fell into the routine.  He knew it was certainly different from his past but that wasn’t a concern to him.  It was good honest work and while he felt something was missing from his life it was still better than the emptiness he had felt when he had woken up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Gårder family isn't just created for this, exactly. I wanted a group with an established backstory so I wouldn't have to completely make it up. So that older sister Rilla mentioned, who is doing something sketchy up in a city? That's Mel, one of my d&d characters. She's a rogue and, by default, an adventurer. So she's definitely doing some sketchy things, including but not limited to dying as a donkey (long story) and being gay as hell. I'm always up to talk about my d&d girls if you ever want to know more about her.

**Author's Note:**

> It is mentioned that Caleb has old self-harm scars and he hurts himself in order to feel on screen in chapter one.
> 
> So fun fact: I'm not actually caught up. In fact, I'm only on episode 22. If you check, that is correct: it's before Molly's death. I watched the scene on YouTube and did my best to keep this accurate, but the fact remains that I am pulling a lot from things I've seen on tumblr and in other fics. That's why this is tagged canon divergence, in part. I'm also pretty sure that just about everyone is horribly out of character; bear with me. I had this idea and I needed to write it even though I'm not there yet.
> 
> Title and all quotes are from Home To Me by Devil and the Deep Blue Sea.


End file.
